


Saccharine

by Doublefallen



Series: Per meos oculos [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black 2 & White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 & White 2 Versions
Genre: A very small slice of life, Drabble, Female Character of Color, Grimsely mention, Makeup, Might Add More, One Shot, Other, Shauntal mention, Short One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 06:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30101523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublefallen/pseuds/Doublefallen
Summary: Iris wakes up with a dry, brittle feeling in her chest. She ignores her alarm clock beeping at her, hauling herself upright to maybe consider a shower. She doesn't exactly have much on today ... so she supposes she could pass and just slob out on the couch.Again.She'd have hoped that she would have stopped feeling like this by the time she was eighteen, but here she is, nineteen years old, Champion by a stroke of luck, and still tired as all fuck.
Relationships: None
Series: Per meos oculos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214933





	Saccharine

Iris wakes up with a dry, brittle feeling in her chest. She ignores her alarm clock beeping at her, hauling herself upright to maybe consider a shower. She doesn't exactly have much on today ... so she supposes she could pass and just slob out on the couch.

Again. 

No. Enough of this, she decides - somewhat reluctantly and turns the shower on lukewarm. Her hair is dry under her shower cap - to preserve the hour of work put into her braids, she thinks- and she tilts her head back, letting the water pour over her face. She doesn't feel alive yet. 

She cranks the temperature colder and colder, bit by bit until she's only slightly numb all over and _out_ _out **out**_ for the few minutes she allows herself to dry.

Her flesh is firm to the touch, she remembers, solid in places she's taken better care of - under the soft pad of her belly she feels it. Strong enough, she  _ supposes _ . Her limbs still ache, though, as she sits cross legged on the floor in her towel in front of a full length mirror, quietly patting in another layer of concealer, from her left ear down to the right side of her throat. The feeling in her chest has grown into some sort of large, coiled beast in the pit of her chest - gnawing at her  _ slowly _ . It weighs her down, whispers into her ears at night - in crowded areas, muddying her countenance.

She's almost gotten everything - the scar on her nose from hitting her head on the microwave late at night after pulling another all-nighter, the one above her brow from some childhood stupidity - and the one from the time some - some  _ grunt tried to crack her head open  _ with a whole  _ goddamn  _ brick. Iris supposes all her scars tell stories, if she's taking the positive side of it as she sifts through her bag for something for the rest of her face. Her throat throbs for a fleeting second - a passing memory.

Her alarm has finally stopped beeping at her.

Iris decides to skip breakfast today, after making the decision that, once again, she does not vibe with pants at  _ all  _ and is going to wear exactly the same cut of skirt as always. Probably pink, too. She'll just make sure she remembers lunch later. She'll probably have time to eat. Within ten minutes she's bundled herself up properly, slipping into the Opelucid Central station as she covertly pulls a surgical mask up past her nose. She's still not quite sure where the trend for these came from, but hey, she's not complaining. 

They're good for not being easily recognized on a packed train into work; a common thought, she sees, as nearly everyone in her carriage is wearing one, not counting that woman in the corner wearing a piece of bejeweled  _ mesh _ over her face which, in Iris's mind defeats the whole point of the cool, mysterious look  _ she's _ after from the trend. She buys an energy drink - one of those little ones that might knock you out if you drink too many - and chugs the thing down through a straw.

Her stop soon - and the usual trek from the station up Victory Road. Nearly nobody ever gets off at this stop - the station here was built to give the League workers less of an arduous commute in - and she supposes herself, too, although Alder probably never used it when he was Champion. She can't really imagine him using it anyway. The entire region knows what the man is like, wherever the hell he's vanished off too - probably up into the mountains, she'll guess, quietly slipping in a back entrance to clock in. 

Iris finds Shauntal in the break room, poring over her laptop with what must be a cold mug of coffee by her side. Iris mumbles a quick greeting before deciding that she'll probably need some caffeine herself. "Wanna refill?" Shauntal nods, barely lifting her eyes from her laptop when Iris snags her mug off the table. 

Her own mug is, as is most of her stuff, pink - and she checks to see how many others are likely in use - Caitlin's - most likely the usual herbal tea. Grimsely is … in Alola, again. Marshall doesn't drink coffee, usually. She'd love to say she didn't either, but she has to keep herself busy. To prove her worth, the quiet voice in her mind says. 

She pays all this affair a precursor glance for the time being, just going through the motions, really. Shauntal nods at her when she replaces her mug - full again- and Iris vanishes off into the bowels of the league with her laptop bag under her arm. 

* * *

The throne room is colder than normal, she notices, sitting sideways on one of the chairs she'd dragged in ages ago with her laptop wedged between her belly and her chest. She's on her third mug of coffee, and the dry feeling in her chest is smaller. Manageable.

She's finally beginning to consider it in the back of her head, way back past whatever part of her mind is preoccupied with her usual bureaucratic drudgery. It's likely exhaustion - physically and mentally. That or the good old anxiety. 

She pauses momentarily. Definitely mentally, for the most part. She's been too  _ tired  _ to do anything interesting with herself (not like she has anything interesting to do) and the usual daily routine is becoming boring again. 

Well, she'll probably get around to doing something about that soon. If she has time.


End file.
